


Snowfall

by Filigree



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: Deathfic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-08
Updated: 2010-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigree/pseuds/Filigree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Klaus searches for Dorian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowfall

**Author's Note:**

> This is all Tzigane and Kat's fault, for [Incandescence](http://www.fried-potatoes.com/fanfiction/viewstory.php?sid=77).

I know that I am not truly here. Not really experiencing this dark, this cold, this quiet snowfall. That such images are nothing more than rewoven memories of night-time winter missions and childhood blizzards. Now, they are the cipher for a totality that my mind cannot yet grasp. I don't _want_ to grasp it: to do so would be to admit defeat, and submission to that truth behind the illusion. I am stronger than that. I can hold back the inevitable, so long as I believe that I am seeing only snow and night.

So. I stand in a dark place with my back to a colourless, shifting light. I look ahead – or is it behind? – to impenetrable darkness. Thousands of snowflakes sleet gently down and forward out of the night, past my range of vision, dazzling like diamonds when the light reaches them. I cast no shadow. I am not touched by the glow. I merely stand, body mass pitched a degree or two forward into the snowfall, against the faint gravity of the light itself.

Snowflakes, like tiny flickering gems, drift lazily past me. I can see their crystal patterns, delicate and individual, and marvel at the forces that shaped them so far away in that darkness I cannot return to. I grieve, too, when I see the light begin to warm and erode them, smoothing them from intricate masterpieces to featureless drops of clear water – that still slant past me on the snowflakes' trajectory. Some last longer than others, retaining their shape even as I lose sight of them. Some touch my skin, in glassy sharp slices or the soft caress of rain. They would erode me, if I let them, if I followed them into the endless downward dance.

I do not turn my head to watch them go by. I scan the darkness instead, forcing my vision to lock onto the new arrivals in split-second judgement. Waiting to spot one particular snowflake. One pattern that I will know at once, would know anywhere no matter what shape it took.

It is the reason for my willfulness, my delusions, my hoarding of whatever shreds of exhausted strength are left to me. That I will see it in time, and be able to meet it as it falls --

I feel moments of panic. What if I am too late? If, in that terrible confusion before I learned to see only snow and night, that the object of my obsession fell past me and was consumed? What if I waste my time here, stubbornly believing a lie?

Panic never lasts long, in this place. If I lost the one thing I am looking for, I have only to wait. It will pass me again; sure as snow becomes snowmelt, a river, a sea, a cloud, and then once more a snowflake. I have only to wait, and watch, and endure.

I vow this, lieber: I will wait as long as I must, to find you again. To touch you, and block your fall. Not to keep you in this limbo with me – that would be too cruel -- but to keep you close.

So we may melt together, as we turn and face the light.


End file.
